


We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Sam

by Witty_Name_Here



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Supernatural
Genre: A Bit Not Good, Because of Reasons, Confused Dean Winchester, Confused Sam Winchester, Crack, Crack Crossover, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Funny, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, No Beta we die like Alduin, No Plot/Plotless, No beta we die like Sam & Dean Winchester, Not Serious, Other, Pouty Gabriel, Randomness, Sarcasm, Tags May Change, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Timeline What Timeline, WTF, What the Hell just happened?, Why Did I Write This?, chickens make an appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witty_Name_Here/pseuds/Witty_Name_Here
Summary: “We didn’t take the dream root, Sam. Remember?”Sam shook his head again, trying to remember. “We didn’t? I remember we were running down a lead for Bobby, then this crazy dude showed up out of nowhere babbling about friggin’ cabbages and cheese wheels, shoves a vial of liquid into our hands then disappears in a puff of smoke. Next thing I know I’m waking up here, so what the hell?”“No, man. The rules are simple, and taking drinks given out by a raving lunatic is right up under ‘don’t take a joint from a guy named Don.’” Dean stood, holding out his arm to help Sam up, then finished dusting off his clothes.~~AKA~~Shenanigans ensue when Sam and Dean Winchester  are tossed into Skyrim.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

“Sam!” Dean sat up, dusting off his clothes and looking around wildly for his brother. “Sam! Wake up! Where the hell are we? Where the hell is Baby?”

Sam groaned, pushing himself to a seated position amongst the nightshade and headstones of the cemetery. Because of course they woke up in a cemetery. If that wasn’t a metaphor for their lives, he didn’t know what was. He shook his head, squinting as he glanced around and tried to get his bearings.

“I have no idea,” Sam said. “This dream root is trippy.” Dean stared at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“We didn’t take the dream root, Sam. Remember?”

Sam shook his head again, trying to remember. “We didn’t? I remember we were running down a lead for Bobby, then this crazy dude showed up out of nowhere babbling about friggin’ cabbages and cheese wheels, shoves a vial of liquid into our hands then disappears in a puff of smoke. Next thing I know I’m waking up here, so what the hell?”

“No, man. The rules are simple, and taking drinks given out by a raving lunatic is right up under ‘don’t take a joint from a guy named Don.’” Dean stood, holding out his arm to help Sam up, then finished dusting off his clothes. The scent of pine hung heavily in the air and raindrops dripped from the thick canopy of pine boughs, splattering on Dean’s forehead as he stared up at them. He flinched, growling in frustration as he wiped it with his sleeve, then stomped away toward the edge of the cemetery. 

A dirt path separated the cemetery from another rustic looking building, and Dean glanced back at Sam, more confused than ever. “Sam, do you have any idea where we are?”

Sam shrugged, shaking his head. “I got nothin’.”

“Follow the yellow brick road it is then,” Dean said, then followed the path up the hill toward the other crudely constructed buildings with Sam keeping stride next to him. “I feel cheated,” he said as they reached the edge of a farm.

“What?” Sam snorted, frowning at Dean.

“Where’s the Lollipop Guild? Munchkins? Hell, at this point I’ll take a house falling on the Wicked Witch!” 

“This isn’t the Wizard of Oz, Dean,” Sam said, squinting his eyes as he looked around. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not that.”

“Well, we sure as hell aren’t in Kansas anymore, Sam,” Dean muttered, walking ahead.

Sam rolled his eyes, and they walked in silence the rest of the way into—he hesitated to call it civilization, and he didn’t think it was a city, which left him at a loss as to what to call the place. They stopped where the dirt path met a cobblestone road, and Sam stared at the scene before him in both rapt fascination and abject horror. 

There were people and horses moving about everywhere, the smell of horse shit clogged his nose, and Sam retched, forcing down the bile that rose into his throat. And for the love of all that was holy—could someone take the blacksmith’s hammer and shove it directly up the guy’s ass? Sideways? Please and thankyouverymuch.

A door to their right opened, and a man flew out of it, landing in a heap in the middle of the road. “And stay out, you drunken bastard! Don’t come back until you can pay your tab!” a woman’s voice screeched as the door slammed with a thud.

The drunk man stood up, swaying on his feet and mumbling something about “harpies.” He was dressed in a filthy tunic and breeches, and Sam glanced around at the people milling about, realizing everyone was dressed in some variation of the clothing the drunk wore. Everyone, that was—except the two of them. 

“Uh, Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean glanced at Sam, still oblivious.

“If this is the dream root, one of us—you,” Sam coughed, “is taking the LARPing thing a bit too seriously.”

“Oh, you think this is me?” Dean snapped. “I already told you we didn’t drink the damn liquid, whatever it was, and even if we did, this—” he gestured in a wide circle with his arms, “is all you. You’re the nerd, not me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Sam replied, trying and failing to stifle a grin as Dean stomped off in the opposite direction, still muttering curses under his breath. Shaking his head and hoping Dean could stay out of trouble for five minutes, Sam made his way through the crowd toward what he thought might be an entrance into the city. Surely, there would be a map or something there, right?

“Let me guess,” a guard in a closed-faced helmet sneered in Sam’s direction. “Someone stole your sweetroll?” 

Sam stared at the helmet, dumbfounded. Why did that sound so familiar? “No, uh—no. Can you tell me where I am?”

“Been hitting the mead a little hard then?” the guard said, and Sam could almost swear the face of the helmet reflected the judgement in the guard’s tone. 

“Yes—no. Does it matter? Just tell me where the hell I am!” Sam bellowed, taking a menacing step forward. The guard removed his helmet, swallowing hard but refusing to break eye contact.

“You’ll watch your tongue if you fancy keeping it, giant. You are speaking to the Commander of the Falkreath Guard.” 

Falkreath, he knew that name from somewhere too. His eyes widened as he pulled his phone from his pocket. No service. Because why would there be in a place called Falkreath? “Dammit,” Sam muttered, shoving the phone back into his pocket and turning his attention back to the guard who now regarded him like he was a two headed deer. “So, uh, I don’t suppose you could tell me where I can find a map?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These beginning chapters are purposely short, but longer ones are coming, I promise!

The commander stared at Sam for a moment, contemplating the question. “Greypine Goods,” he said, waving in the general direction of one of the buildings.

“Great, thanks,” Sam replied, turning away.

“Might want to get yourself some more—suitable attire?” The commander said to Sam’s back. Sam rolled his eyes and kept walking. He turned slowly in a circle, searching for Dean. Where the hell was he? 

Sam discovered the general store was directly across the road from what he assumed was the tavern, and now he had to make a decision. He sighed, then climbed the steps and pushed open the door of the tavern. 

“Heya Sammy,” Dean called, waving to Sam from a chair across the room where he sat with one tavern girl sitting in his lap, her arms draped around his neck, while another hovered somewhere nearby. Both of the women were wearing an outfit that left almost nothing to the imagination and Sam rolled his eyes as Dean grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. He gestured toward the girls like he was showing Sam some new toy he’d brought home. 

Sam shook his head, crossing the room in long strides, then taking an empty chair next to Dean. The chair was clearly meant for a much smaller person and he had the fleeting image of standing up and the chair being stuck to his ass. He sat down anyway, nodding to the girls. Dean shooed them away and they both left, pouting.

“This place is great,” Dean said under his breath as he watched one of the tavern girls walk away. 

Sam cleared his throat loudly, and Dean turned his attention to his brother. “Do you have any idea where  _ here _ actually is, Dean? Because all I got was Falkreath.”

Dean shrugged. Of course he hadn’t bothered to ask any questions. Dean let out a low whistle, drawing the attention of one of the tavern girls. “Hey, sweetheart, my brother and I are a little lost. Where are we?”

“Falkreath, at the Dead Man’s Drink,” she replied, her brows knitting in confusion.

“And Falkreath is where exactly?” Sam snapped. 

“Well—Skyrim, of course.”

“Wait—what?” Sam said, staring at the floor incredulously. He made a face as anger surged through him. “Gabriel, you son of a bitch.”

“What, Sam? What is it?” Dean said, staring at him in confusion. “Where the hell is Skyrim? And what does Gabriel have to do with any of this? Did you two have another lover’s spat?”

Sam shot Dean a death glare, and Dean grinned back at him. “Hey, look at this way Sammy, it could’ve been another genital herpes commercial. This is way better, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely not! Skyrim is a video game, Dean. A friggin’ video game! Do you know what that means?”

“It means you shouldn’t have pissed off your fluffy-winged Archangel/trickster boyfriend, Sam. That’s what it means. What did you even do, anyway?”

“Nothing, I—” Sam pressed his lips together, blushing furiously, then took a deep breath. “I may or may not have said Lucifer’s wings were bigger.”

“Dude,” Dean said, pressing a fist to his mouth as his eyes went wide. “You didn’t,” he breathed. Sam shrugged, not looking at him. “Awesome, so now we’ll be stuck in here for eternity. You know how Gabriel gets when he’s pouty.”

“Yeah well, he had it coming,” Sam said. “He left that stupid clown mask hanging in the closet, then made it jump out at me all Alien face-hugger style.”

Dean shook his head. “Dude, you screwed the pooch this time. So how do we get out of here?”

“Well if it’s anything like the last time, we have to play our roles. Except I don’t know what the hell our roles are, because I’ve never even played this game before.”

“Me either,” Dean replied, his face brightening. “It’s a video game, how hard can it be? I say we have some fun while we’re here.”


End file.
